Meet the Parents

Before our truck had even come to a full stand-still, a few kids began chasing it up the hill. We all, inside, shared nervous excited looks, then stepped out one by one. A young Fijian girl with blue stud-earrings and an angelic face, sauntered to the side of the vehicle with her hands behind her back, beaming as the men unloaded our things.

‘Bula!’ they said, and bustled our bags onto someone’s porch. We re-grouped on the gravel shyly.

‘Come, come,’ they said, and led us back down the slope towards a large brick house that we would later come to realise, was the village hall. Fijian men, women and children emerged from the hall and stood in agitated formation just outside. Then, once we had settled a few yards away, a boy, from the middle of the small crowd started pelting an oblong wooden drum that he had around his neck, and the village began to sing. It was a merry welcome song that we little understood besides the jolly “Bula!” chorus, but it had us on the verge of tears nonetheless. Then the girl with the blue earrings and another little boy, stepped forward holding trimmed Hibiscus flowers in woven baskets, and by the time the song had finished, all of the volunteers had a flower tucked behind our left ears.

We heartily applauded when the song was over and were guided at once to follow Leah and Ferg inside the building.

‘OK,’ Leah said, ‘don’t forget we’re guests today so we can sit at the front.’

We nodded, left our flipflops outside, and followed, single-file into the hall. The room was simple, with bare walls and two large woven mats to cover the floor, but it was cool and shaded, and excited by a congregation of cross-legged Fijians sitting opposite us. We sat in a semi-circle, opposite the kava bowl, over which the chiefs blessed the kava, prayed for us, and served us a cup in turn. As soon as it was over an excitement of whispers snatched around the room; I saw the girl with the blue earrings giggle amongst her friends as they inspected the volunteers; she smiled at me several times in particular and I remember thinking: ‘I hope I get her family’ – then immediately I repressed the thought of such an infinitesimal probability.

Then at last, it was family-allocation time. All of the Think Pacific team had been divided up into pairs prior to our arrival; now not only did Harriet and I share a small world back home, but we had been randomly selected to live with the same family in Fiji. In all honesty, this prospect worried me a little; we had, after all, exhausted every possible subject on the bus when we first met – what else was there left to talk about. Nevertheless, when our names were called out together, we shared a look of scared anticipation, before an elderly woman with a gap-toothed smile raised her hand from the side of the room and waved us over. ‘The Tollua family,’ said Ferg, and we stood, ‘tilo, tilo-ed’ around the congregation and met our new ‘mother.’

The woman stood, and a teenage girl rose as well, we embraced our new family, the crowd clapped, then we sat and waited as each pair greeted their new parents and siblings. It was undeniably both a sweet and awkward occasion that had my stomach tight with anticipation. I was excited to properly introduce myself to the family and yet highly concerned about making a good first impression.

As soon as the families had been allocated, the ceremony was officially over and we were back to a less formal form of address. Each of us were led outside and dispersed among the village to collect our bags and finally discover our new homes.